When Bad Produce Happens to Good People - Watermelon

This is not a tale of the cunning redeployment of substandard produce - tasteless blueberries, withered grapes or never-gonna-ripen pears.

Rather, this is the Curious Case of the Exploding Watermelon.

It's also a contender for My Most Disgusting Produce Story, poised to dethrone the current champion, the tale which begins with my college roommate Kumi preparing some crudites in a lidded box for her Japanese class's midyear party. In June, I discovered the box when I was clearing out our dorm room. I guessed that the orange liquified bits had begun their lives as carrots, the pale green ones, celery. As for the darker green ones - sugar snap peas? String beans? I was too too busy gagging to make it interesting with a wagering pool. (Kumi, safely back in California by then, naturally found the story hilarious. She still does.)

This new story begins with a nice watermelon that looked like this:

When I set it aside for 2 days, my worst fear was that it was under-ripe and wouldn't taste very good.

Clearly, my fears lacked imagination and ambition. When I went to cut it up last night, the watermelon looked like this:

"Gee, my watermelon looks like it's taking a swim in a lake that could catch on fire," I thought cheerfully. "But who would put viscous water in the bowl?"

The next thought was dawning horror.

I grabbed a doubled trash bags and dumped the bowl's contents into the bags.

Normally I a pretty committed composter, but at times like this I am grateful for my dishwasher and my building's trash chute (one of the delights of apartment living). 


If you have a delicate stomach, you might want to skip to the end of this blog post. The watermelon had become truly revolting. Its rind collapsed and the watermelon's insides came pouring out.

The liquid was everywhere, damaging the wood of the furniture the mat was on, wetting (but mercifully not causing lasting harm) a fancy lamp, and in generally making a colossal mess. 

"Wow, that looks like the scene of a crime!" a friend said when I showed him the pictures.

What happened here?

According to a blog post called "Why Do Watermelons Crack, Split and Explode?",

As soon as a fresh plant is removed from its host plant or reaches maturity, it begins to very slowly break down. Heat accelerates this process. 

As it breaks down, a colorless gas called acetylene forms inside the water melon. The gas is volatile and quite unstable while in gas form (which is why when it's used in scientific experiments it's usually used in liquid form.)

The gas will try its best to escape the water melon but as it slowly increases due to the rotting in the water melon, the pressure will continue to increase.

When the skin of the watermelon is no longer strong enough to hold the gas inside, it will explode, often spraying all nearby surfaces with rotten water melon. Sometimes a trip home from the shop in a warm car is the final catalyst required to create an explosion.

Despite the disgusting scene at my house, I feel we got off easy. Just Google a phrase like "exploding rotten watermelon" and you'll see videos with watermelon bits on the ceiling and comments about the worst smell in the world. My watermelon didn't stink and I didn't have to destroy the carpet and the floorboards underneath.

Because of this, I could be more tolerant. Don't we all explode at times? 

So even if this isn't a redemptive tale, at least it has a happy ending: watermelon and I are still friends. Now excuse me while I bite into this instant refreshment.

What the heck is that? Purslane

One of the fun things you can do in the Union Square Greenmarket is snoop in chef’s shopping carts. Today I snooped in this cart. Sure enough - this seems like the norm this time of year - there was some purslane on top.

Let's go for the close-up:

Purslane is a chef’s darling, but to many folks it’s a weed. As horticulturalist Sandra Mason  writes, "Purslane, Portulaca oleracea, is probably in your garden right now, but not because you invited it to dinner."

Once you know what to look for, you'll find it, as I did, in a green patch around an urban traffic light and in a mall parking lot.

And don't think these purslane patches aren't here to stay! Purslane has made its way all over the world - not surprising, given purslane's legendary hardiness. As Mason notes,

Seeds of purslane have been known to stay viable for 40 years in the soil. You may find that fact either depressing or exciting... Purslane grows just about anywhere from fertile garden soil to the poorest arid soils. A rock driveway is nirvana to purslane... Again depressing or exciting. Running a tiller through purslane is called purslane multiplication.

I first encountered purslane as a desirable vegetable in Turkey, where it is prized in a variety of dishes - stews , meze appetizers, and salads. In New York, I frequently see it sold in the East Harlem vegetable stalls that cater to Mexican shoppers. And it's sold at many farmers' markets, where it is snapped up by chefs and a small but cultish following of laypeople. (And, occasionally, curious shoppers who interact with both groups.) This stand at a farmers' market is hoping to entice the uninitiated. 

So what's purslane's appeal? Of course, if you have a lot of it growing in your garden, by all means forage away. Purslane is extremely nutritious - in addition to being a good source of fiber, Vitamins A, B and C and several minerals and anti-oxidants, purslane has more Omega 3 fatty acids than any other leafy plant source. Chefs like it because it is a juicy succulent with an unusual tangy, almost lemony taste. Whenever I've seen someone buying purslane, I've asked them what they planned to do with it. Here are some of the responses: 

• Mixed green salad
• "Hide it in a sandwich for extra nutrition"
• Chopped salad with tomatoes, cucumbers and onions
• Salad with watermelon
• Wilted, like spinach or other greens, underneath a hunk of protein
• In a soup
• "I'm Turkish, so with yogurt or with lamb"

Purslane does indeed go well with tomatoes - juiciness meets juiciness - and I was intrigued by the watermelon suggestion. Another juicy idea!

This combination was a winner! As it happened, this particular watermelon wasn't that impressive on its own, but as a salad ingredient it was aces. (As an aside, I'm always on the lookout for ideas for disappointing produce (check out some entries in the When Bad Produce Happens to Good People series on this blog), and treating a fruit as a salad vegetable often lowers the bar satisfactorily.)  A good addition to this salad would be something salty - olives, capers - or just some salt itself. 

The other idea that appealed to me was wilting the purslane. Purslane can get a little slimy if it's overcooked, so a light hand and quick cooking time are in order. You could saute some chopped garlic in oil first or proceed without it.

Sometimes I like to eat the tangled web of purslane with chopsticks.

One final tip: Purslane stems may be sold without their roots or with them.

If the roots are intact, expect clumps of sod too.

Give the purslane a soak and thorough hosing.

Give them a haircut too - no need for rat-tails here!

A couple of times I've pinched tip of what I assume is a purslane stem's seed head and planted it in one of my flower pots. The success of this plant plan is by no means guaranteed: I've killed a few "weeds" in my time - this year, a lovely pot of spearmint - so I don't know if this ever-propagating plant will visit me next year. If not, no big deal. That's what farmers' markets are for.

Watermelon Tourism (Guest blog post from Korea and Hong Kong)

Summer vacations! The time to hit the road and check out far away lands, reunite with family and friends and visit tourist attractions. And the time for me to engage in some vicarious produce tourism.

My friend Thom has been visiting Hong Kong and Korea this summer, and - of course - our email exchanges have a certain focus to them: the food.

And even within our niche topic I've noticed a little sub-niche: watermelon. 

Large & in charge!

Back in New York Thom and I debated the relative merits of seedless (so convenient) versus seeded (usually more flavorful) watermelon. While I mulled over my weekend purchase of a disappointing whole seedless watermelon, Thom continued her exploration of this topic from Hong Kong and Korea.

Here are some of her comments:

We're in Korea! We went to an ocean park today, and I thought it was interesting one of the snacks that was offered was mini watermelon.  They cut it open and served both halves with a with a spoon! It was very refreshing! I normally hate small mini watermelon, but this one was was surprisingly sweet - and seedless too! 


(Here's Thom's daughter Heidi enjoying some of the mini-watermelon.)

Why are you taking my picture, Mom?

Thom's watermelon commentary continued in Hong Kong. 

The photo of the giant watermelon [photo at the beginning of this post]  was taken inside a Japanese supermarket in Hong Kong that sells a lot of beautiful greenhouse fruit. They sold a pretty looking cantaloupe for $240 HK -- about $35 US! There was also a pretty peach -- for $20!

This long, mini-melon [photo immediately above] is known as a "Blacklady," maybe because of the seeds. You can see the name on the price label.

These Malaysian Melon are about half-way between our typical watermelons' size and that of the super mini-melon size. (Mini stuff is big: they have mini-pineapple too.)

In Hong Kong, people still prefer to go shop in the market in they have household help, a stay-at-home mom, etc. old style. People still prefer to hand pick their produce, but the best quality stuff gets picked early in the AM well before lunch. Unless you get there early, by the time you get to the market, the most popular stalls are usually closed since they are sold out. Working people usually go to the supermarket, which will sell everything. I noticed the market is getting smaller and smaller as Hong Kong land is getting more and more expensive, and it's more regulated since the initial outbreaks of SARS and bird flu.

In Hong Kong, people definitely eat very seasonally. In a restaurant, for example, instead of ordering a plate of broccoli, you would ask the waiter, "What vegetables do you have today?" Now in the summer there is something called "yean choi," that is available. It's like spinach except with more texture and less of a minerally taste - like a big, crunchy watercress. You might get that. Once you select your vegetable, you tell the waiter exactly the way you want it done. [Editor's note: Cover your eyes, vegetarians!] Poached in fish stock, steamed with chicken broth, stir fried with shrimp paste with chili, etc. The vegetable dish is more of a main dish than a side dish; it's the same size as an entree.

Thom sent another interesting picture, this time from Korea. (With nary a watermelon in sight! See, we are complex people with many varied interests - vegetables, for example.)

It's alive!

The Lotte Mart is a 3 story supermarket in Seoul that sells everything from shampoo to stationery to pots to frozen, fresh and preserved vegetables. They also sell lettuces that are still growing - here they are in their little nursery.

Given that Korea is kimchi world, they have a whole section, easily a 2000 square foot space, just for preserved and pickled vegetables, fish, etc. Every customer seems to buy leeks and scallions in this market.

The weather has been rainy, otherwise I'd be visiting the market we passed on a taxi ride. It's huge - Vietnamese, Hong Kong style. The vendors sell stuff from woven baskets, just grabbing and weighing. Like Chinatown but on a massive scale. Sorry to miss out on those pictures.